Patience and Prudence
by Justamomentinthewoods
Summary: A girl gets stranded in Gatlin, Nebraska and suddenly finds herself apart of the cult of children living among the cornstalks. She has to do whatever she can to make it through, but she can live with herself afterwards? Adult Themes
1. Induction

It's all a blur really. One second my aunt and I are driving down a back road in God knows where and the next all hell has broken out. I can't remember much of anything, the pain in my body is all my mind can stand. The cuts criss crossing my skin, the bruises on my shins, and the iron tinge of blood in my mouth letting me know I've bit into my lip. My head is in a daze and I'm only away of one thing at a time.

The sun is setting.

Someone is holding my wrists.

Red hair.

Children.

Corn stalks.

Then I'm forced to my knees in a clearing, only to look up and see a giant cross adorned with corn and a skeleton of a man long dead in uniform. I would have screamed if I hadn't already known what these "children" were capable of.

"I've brought the outlander," the boy standing above me says. Red hair, like fire. He speaks to a younger boy with pale skin and dark with eyes much older than his earthly body.

"Thank you, Malachi. Tell me, outlander, how old are you?" it takes me a moment to understand the question, another to spit the blood from my mouth and yet another to rethink my answer. There wasn't a single kid around that looked older than high school age and suddenly all my excitement over turning eighteen in January seemed to fizzle out. The truth probably wasn't the best thing to go for at the moment.

"Sev- seventeen last month," I muttered to the boy. It may have been pushing it but the leader seemed to accept my answer as fact because then he asked for my name. "Jesse. I'm Jesse."

"Enough talk, Isaac. Let's give her to He Who Walks Behind the Rows!" the red haired boy yelled, getting a handful of other children to join in his cheering.

"Silence, Malachi!" the boy called Isaac snapped, his dark eyes glaring through the failing daylight. "The more we have to serve him the better. She is of age, we must use her as a servant, not a sacrifice."

Malachi sneered but said nothing else.

"Now Jesse isn't a very suitable name. You will take the name of Zelophehad's daughter, Mahlah. Rise Mahlah and become _his_ servant. "

My knees had fallen asleep lying in the dirt and my whole body ached from the abuse it had suffered. I did not know who _he _was or what serving him entailed but I seemed to have no choice. I struggled to get my feet underneath me but my limbs were simply too exhausted. Malachi finally grabbed a hold of my upper arm and hauled me up.

"Sister Mahlah, Welcome to Gatlin."


	2. A Little Research

**Authors Note:** Another chapter for this little story stuck in my head.

* * *

Sitting in the dirt behind a weather worn barn, I sat staring at the tall grass trying to fill in the empty spaces in my memory. I knew there were blanks, but had no way to fill them. I was on a constant quest for something unknown. Still, it was like an itch in the back of my head I had no ability to scratch. There wasn't much else to do in Gatlin other than think. After I had been inducted the night before, a girl named Rachel gave me a scratchy farm dress and made me sit in the church while she went to the clearing again.

Something happened last night. I could feel the ground tremble and heard raised voices but not a single soul would tell me what had gone down. When Rachel had come back to the chapel, I had asked her.

"None of your concern," and with a flip of her brown curls she was gone. Apparently, Gatlin didn't have an information center for new arrivals.

Looking out across the corn rows and fidgeting in my second hand dress I felt like the lone survivor of a terrible disaster finally washed up on shore only to discover the world had completely changed while I was gone. Only, the universe as I knew it was out there somewhere. Past the corn, the crucifixes and all the creepy children there was my world. Only I had no way of reaching it.

"Good crop this time around," I must have been lost in my thoughts because I had not even heard Isaac walk up. Yet there he was, dressed in the same suit he had on last night. He looked like a real evangelical preacher, ready to call all the sinners down to save them from their sins. I'm not sure if "saving" was what he really had in mind. I wish I could have placed an age on him but in all honestly, I couldn't. His face was round giving him a very young quality but his brown eyes were something else. He didn't even hold himself like a child, in fact he stood more confidently than most grown men.

"Oh.. I, uh, don't know much about corn," I say, looking out at the stalks and wondering if they were exceptionally good ones. I had never been one for the outdoors, much less agriculture.

"Well, you'll learn soon enough," Isaac said, giving me a warm smile that reminded me of the preachers you see in movies and on television. The all knowing, all loving grin as if God himself smirked at you. I had never found any comfort in these smiles. They always seemed fake to me, and this one, well, it made me feel like a sheep walking to the slaughter. "How about I give you some lessons, help you adjust to Gatlin?"

It wasn't like I had a lot of engagements I had to move around in my schedule, besides a little schooling might help me understand Gatlin's residents. "Sure, sounds like a good idea."

"I'll see you at noon, in the clearing in the cornfield," he said gesturing to the site where I had been "welcomed" the night before. "I'm very glad to have you here, Mahlah."

I gave a sad excuse for a grin and watched him leave. Mahlah. Who was this Mahlah girl that had come to live in the middle of No-Where, Nebraska. I bet she liked corn and itchy farm dresses. As for Jesse, she wanted to know how an entire town could be completely void of any life except the creepy children who built crosses in the cornfield. A sickening dread filled my stomach as I thought of the possibilities. Maybe I should try to make a break for it through the corn rows to try and reach the world beyond.

However, there was something about the fields I didn't like. Something I would need to find out by myself.

* * *

Walking down main street, or at least what used to be main street, I searched the front of buildings looking for the town's library. Maybe there were some books in there that would help me figure out what was so wrong with this little village. However, I wasn't walking alone by the store fronts and it was not long until a figure stepped out in front of me. The first thing I noticed was the hilt of the knife at his side and then the red hair that marked this one as Malachi. His face was a hurricane of freckles and the brown trousers he wore were ragged and ripped at the hem, making them a whole inch too short and exposing the laces of his boots.

"Hello _Mahlah_," he sneered, twisting all the freckles around on his face as he stared down at me. That name again. I'll never get used to that name.

"Please let me through," I said, my eyes to the concrete waiting for Malachi's boots to move from my path.

"Don't think you've got me fooled, outlander," instead of walking away he inched closer, his voice dropping to a whisper in my ear. "When you finally snap, I'll be there."

His fingers were at his knife and I couldn't help but feel a cold shiver of fear run down my spine. Knocking his shoulder into mine, Malachi shoved past me leaving the sidewalk clear again.

"Once an outlander, always an outlander."

* * *

Finally locating the library, I settled into the pile of books about corn that were stacked on one of the tables adorned with, you got it, corn stalks. I never knew I could spend so much time reading about a plant, but it appears that when you're stuck in a cult like group of creepy children anything is possible. I mostly skimmed the books anyway, just looking for anything that might seem of value. Only my eyes would get tired so I read bits and pieces out loud to wake myself up, I even walked around the empty building with one of the books because sitting in those hard chairs was making all my injuries from the night before ache. That's another thing- I didn't remember how I got those either. All black spots, all ghosts. One minute I'm going down the road, the next kneeling in a cornfield.

Anyway, I'm pacing in the dimly lit library, straining to read about the seasons for planting a vegetable when I find it- the fact to support my hunch. I stare at the words on the page over and over, soaking them up.

_In the United States corn crops are planted in the beginning of April and harvests start in October, typically ending in November. _

Then why was there harvest ready corn in the middle of June?


	3. A Study in Scripture

**Author's note: **Now things start getting interesting

* * *

The next few weeks of this new life in Gatlin was as mundane and odd as the very first. In the mornings I tended to wander around the edges of the cornfields, trying to get a feel for the borders of this prison and the distance I'd have to travel if I ran away. After my little walk through the rows I sat in the clearing with Isaac for my "lessons." They were more of a bastard version of Sunday school to tell the truth. I may not be exactly the most religious person around but I know a bible isn't supposed to look all cut up and savaged like Isaac's does. However, I still attend these sessions because it gives me an idea of what all the other kids believe. There's He Who Walks Behind the Rows that they worship. That's pretty much all I've gotten from Isaac's little sermons but after he's done I sneak in my own little questions for him to answer.

"Why are there no adults around?"

"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a _child shall lead them_," he always put the emphasis on the end of his sentences, occasionally smacking his bible with his palm to prove his point. At times it was almost comedic, but I knew better than to laugh at Isaac. Despite the fact that he never directly answered my inquires, I still asked them.

"So, what's wrong with that boy- Malachi?"

"He does the grunt work of enforcing He Who Walks Behind the Rows' commandments. A little brutish if you ask me," it was obvious Isaac didn't care much for the red haired boy from what I collected over the weeks of imprisonment. I try to make sure my questions will get me enough new information to hold me over until the next day since the hours are long and, well, boring. Today I decide to ask the question that's been bothering me since my first full day in Gatlin.

"Brother Isaac, when do we harvest the corn?" I ask as innocently as I can manage. The young preacher chuckles and kneels beside me, speaking to me as if I were a small child.

"Oh Sister Mahlah, we do not reap this corn- this is _his_."

"But, then where does the corn we eat come from?" I am completely sick of corn. It is all we ever eat, that and water. With corn for every meal some days I go without food just so I won't have to endure another helping of those stupid yellow kernels.

"We get those from the field on the very far side. Those stalks are He Who Walks Behind the Rows' gift to us for our service to him," Isaac explained gently.

"Why can't he give us a field of french fries?" I ask deafeated, staring at the corn all around me. Of course, Isaac found that hilarious.

"Oh Mahlah, soon you will learn to live like the rest of us. You are a very good pupil," I've managed to stay awake the whole time, I consider that a remarkable feat. "Actually, I have a gift for you."

It was a package wrapped up with withered corn stalks. After ripping away the covering I found myself holding one of the butchered bibles the child had created. As much as I wanted to get their creepy cult textbook away from me I feigned excitement, rising to my feet and jumping up and down.

"Thank you Brother Isaac, I will cherish it!" the words came as easily as corn from the fields in Gatlin. Lying was becoming second nature to me here. It was the only way to keep myself in good graces.

* * *

Keeping Isaac was no big deal, Malachi on the other hand seemed like a lost cause. Whenever we crossed paths he always made sure to shoot me a dirty look, "accidently" step on my toe, or get one of his cronies to trip me. He had a lot of older boys trailing behind him twenty four seven, so it wasn't very hard to say a word and suddenly my face is in the dirt.

In a place as weird as this I can't have any enemies. I tried every approach to get on Malachi's good side. I went out of my way to avoid him- no good. I stood up to him- only to be hacked back down with cheers of "outlander." I even bullied a younger kid, all to no avail. The only thing was Malachi was everywhere, always on patrol, knife at his hip. So I took to sitting in the hay loft of a barn with rain stripped gray paint, overlooking the "sacred" cornfields. I went there today with my newly acquired reading material from Isaac.

Flipping through the sparse pages I found that most of what the kids decided to keep was the bloody imagery and few passages that supported their cult work. Through my thumbing through I landed on the book named, of all things, Malachi. It had only three pages but they were all intact. It was a long shot but I read over those few pages over and over thinking that if I understood Malachi the book I could understand Malachi the boy.

* * *

The next morning I was taking my usual walk through the corn rows, tripping over fallen stalks and getting slapped by leaves. Sometimes the soil would shift underfoot, making me stumble or even fall. It was if the field itself didn't want me there- like I was going to let an inanimate span of dirt tell me what to do. Shuffling through the corn I turned down a row to find that I wasn't alone there. None other than Malachi was sitting in the row as if he had been waiting for me to pass by. With nothing else coming to mind I gave a bubbly "Good morning Brother Malachi."

"I'm not your brother," he hissed. Suddenly it clicked in my head- how to get this boy off my back. If I could lie to Isaac I could lie to Malachi, even if this one would need some incredible feats of acting. After all this red haired boy was a _boy _and a teenager at that. It wouldn't to hard to get under his skin. Slowly lowering myself to my knees in the dirt I tilted by head at him, pouting out my lower lip just a hair.

"I'm sorry to hear that Malachi…" I said before dropping my voice to a hurried whisper. "but I'm actually kind of glad to."

"Why?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at me while I batted my eyelashes at him.

"Well, if you were my brother…" I say moving my hand to rest on his knee. "we couldn't be… friendly."

I could see the thoughts filling up behind the boy's eyes. I bet no one in the history of Gatlin had ever tried to seduce Malachi. I'm not sure most of these kids even knew what that meant. I inched forward to him, feeling my cheeks flush red with a blush. I could see sweat beading up on the boy's forehead and he stretched his neck, trying to free himself from the high buttoned collar of his shirt. It was all instinct now- truthfully I never knew I had it in me to do such a thing but obviously I did. "You look a little warm, Malachi- let me help you."

Closing the gap between us, I lift myself into his lap, letting my itchy dress fan out over us. My fingers find the top button of his shirt and free it, exposing the pale flesh beneath. I undo the second button and start to go for the third when his hand flies up and stops me. My eyes flick up to his and suddenly his free hand is running my leg. I feel a smile grow across my face knowing my plan is working. I feel his breath on my face and as I stare at his lips a scripture is called to mind. Slipping my arms around his shoulders I bring my lips close to his so I'm practically breathing the words into his mouth.

"For the lips of a priest should guard knowledge, and people should seek instruction from his mouth-," my words are cut off by his arm wrapping around my waist and his legs shifting underneath me as to bring ourselves even closer to one another. Suddenly I've lost my place in the verse but no longer care. There's something in the way he holds me that lights a fire within my very core. Our lips had barely brushed each other when a voice pierces through the cornfield.

"Mahlah!" that unique voice could only belong to Isaac. "It's noon, time for your lesson!"

I pull away from Malachi just enough to meet his eye.

"Return to me, and I will return to you- Malachi 3:7," I give me a little wink before slipping off his lap and sprinting through the corn yelling to Isaac that I'm coming.

Gatlin sure wasn't going to be boring after that.


	4. Today's Sermon

Stumbling into the clearing, I struggled to catch my breath while my fingers flew around straightening my skirt and laying my hair back down. Looking up I met Isaac's inquiring gaze.

"Where have you been, you're never late," he said curtly, his bible tucked firmly under his arm. I didn't realize the church of Gatlin counted tardies.

"I'm sorry brother Isaac, I was speaking with Malachi," I say as politely as I can, my fingers toying with the hem of my dress.

"Malachi?" his voice took over a completely different tone, one of bewilderment. "What were the two of you talking about?"

"Just making small talk… sir," I tack the title on the end as Isaac takes a step closer to me. This session is starting to feel less like a lesson and more like an interrogation.

"Malachi doesn't make small talk," his mouth settled into a grim line. "You watch out around him, Mahlah. He is all too anxious to spill blood and pronounce it in He Who Walks Behind the Row's name. He should be studying instead of looking for trouble."

"Yes, Isaac."

"And where's your bible?" he asked sternly before handing over his own for me to thumb through.

The lesson went on as usual from then on out. I couldn't tell you anything Isaac said; my mind had traveled to other matters. Despite my tardiness and Isaac's sudden sour mood, I couldn't help but ask a few questions after we finished our lesson.

"Isaac? What happened the night I came here?" the boy had his back to me and now I could see the muscles beneath his suit jacket tensed up.

"You aren't allowed to ask those questions," the coldness in his voice should have stopped me but I didn't.

"But I can't remember anything, surely you could-," I wasn't even able to finish my sentence before Isaac spun around to stare down at me.

"I said those questions aren't allowed, _Mahlah_," the way he spit my name out made me flinch. "Now go, I have other pupils to tend to."

I knew that was a lie but I stood up and cleared out of the corn field before I could dig myself into an even deeper hole.

* * *

Later in the day I walked to the white church building, bible in hand, looking for Isaac. Sure enough he was the chapel's only occupant, sitting in the front pew with his elbows on his knees and his head in hands. I could hear him whispering a prayer and tried to be quite as I entered but the floor boards beneath my feet gave away my position and he looked up at me before I had even made it half way down the aisle. However, I did not get the reaction I would have liked. Instead of his usual kindly smile, I received a cold glance before he returned to his prayers.

Biting down on my lip I mentally kicked myself for acting so carelessly this morning. All these past weeks were for nothing if I screwed up my position now. I had to win Isaac back if I was to maintain any standing in Gatlin. So, I slide into the pew behind the boy, bowing my head and staring at the bible lying neatly in my lap. I didn't have any prayers to offer up to the corn god or any god for that matter but I didn't want to interrupt. I could not understand Isaac's mumbling no matter how hard I strained to hear them. Then, rather abruptly, he stopped and twisted around in the pew to look back at me.

"What is it that you want?" he asked, without even the slightest attempt at veiling his contempt for me. How could his good opinion be lost so quickly? However, I cleared my throat and looked back at him, determined to continue unfazed.

"I wanted to apologize for my actions early. They were uncalled for and I am deeply sorry," I say, trying to make the words sound as meaningful as possible. Inside I wonder how long I'll be able to do this, keep up face with corn worshipping children.

"Apology accepted. Is that all?" his voice was forced and strict.

"Actually no," I say, reaching forward I lay a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay Brother Isaac? You're not acting like yourself."

He looks at me for a few seconds, his mouth poised open to speak yet no sound comes out. However this spell is broken and he takes my hand between his and gives a half hearted smile.

"I'm just tired. It's been a long day," I knew this was a lie but I couldn't really force the truth out of him, we'd already been down that road today.

"Well," I begin, scooting so close I was barely sitting on my own pew anymore. "I hope you get plenty of rest tonight."

Leaning over I plant a kiss on his forehead as my goodbye and stand to leave only to find that I can't. The boy still has my hand clenched between his own, anchoring me to that spot. He looks up at me eyes that I just can't read. Then he joins me standing, and I feel his thumb run over the back of my hand and a shiver runs through me. I give a slight tug and my hand is free and suddenly my legs are carrying me down the aisle and out of the church as fast as they can. I pass by the girl named Rachel on my out, smacking her right in the shoulder but not even bothering to stop and apologize.

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into.


	5. What's In a Name

It's almost dusk and I can't find the strength to stand. I've been lying on my back between rows of corn for hours now just staring up at the sky and running through all the thoughts in my head. It's hard to take it all in- a corn god who makes the plants grow in any season, a blood thirsty red head, an odd young man leading all these children in worship. It sounds like a movie.

I count the days in my head, which turn to into weeks. Four of them. A whole month I've been stuck here in Gatlin. A month away from civilization. From… things I can't remember. There's silhouettes of people in a cloudy part of my mind and I can't see their faces and speak their names. I've been wiped clean, left with only "He Who Walks Behind the Rows" on my lips.

They've taken everything from me here. My memories, my freedom, even my name. I've been branded with "Mahlah" for so long it takes me a moment to remember my real one- Jesse. Jesse, like the outlaw. Someone used to tell me that, I just can't say who. I can't be Jesse in front of the others, only alone can I be the outlaw. With Isaac and Malachi and Rachel and everyone else I'm Mahlah. One of Zelophehad's daughters in the bible. I am no daughter of Zelophehad. I'm Jesse, if only I could remember who exactly that is.

* * *

Once it is dark all the children usually gather in the clearing to listen to more of Isaac's preaching and bible smacking. I guess it's mandatory for all citizens of Gatlin and I always attend, even if I end up dozing off a little. Night was creeping in on the corn rows, but I couldn't bring myself to go. Instead my mind, Jesse's mind, thought of something better to do while all the other kids were occupied.

By the time I reached the road the country side was completely covered in darkness. Only by the light of the moon was I able to find my way to the asphalt. In the distance I could hear Isaac's voice rising and falling as he preached the gospels of He Who Walks Behind the Rows. That and the sound of my feet against the road were the only sounds. I wasn't quite sure what I was looking for, but I knew once I saw it I would know. My eyes scanned the road, occasionally looking back towards the clearing to make sure the bonfire was still blazing. Once that light went out the sermon would be adjourned and someone was bound to come looking for me. For now, however, I was alone.

Squinting through the dark, my eyes made out a shape in the distance. My heart jumped into my throat as I jogged forward. It was a car, half way onto the shoulder of the road it's hood crumpled and passenger window knocked out. The glass was still on the pavement and a crunching sound filled the air as I walked through it. The moonlight left a lot to the imagination, yet I felt connected to this pile of scrap. I slipped my hand under the handle to pull it open and the familiar fit kicked a memory up in my head.

_"Open the door, Mandy!" I yell, yanking on the door handle, but the girl just laughs, refusing to even consider unlocking the door. "Mandy I'm going to kill you!" _

_ My threats hold no meaning as they turn into giggles and the girl smiles, unlocking the door and letting me slide in next to her…_

I feel a coldness run through me as the memory slips away, like a morning dew once the sun comes up. It was there one moment and the next gone. This is definitely what I was looking for and without a second thought I pull on the handle and yank the door open. The hinge gives a high pitched shriek as it protests being used, but I'm already leaning into the front seat, looking inside. If it was dark on the street it's pitch black inside the car. I slide my hands around, trying to find… something. My fingers hit a rough part in the upholstery. I blink a few times but my eyes just can't make out what this might be. Leaning on my knee, I reached across the car to the driver's side, fumbling by the steering wheel until my fingertips hit a little knob and yank on it. The dashboard lights up, as well as the headlights and interior lights of the car. The change is blinding and I have to close my eyes for a few moments before being able to see again.

Only then do I wish I had kept them closed. I wish I had never ventured out into the road to find the missing part of my soul. I wish I had just gone to service in the clearing like I was supposed to. I don't scream, I don't stutter, I don't even move. With the lights on I can see every part of the car, including all the blood splattered across the front seat. It's dried in the fabric, it has crusted on the steering wheel and dashboard. Even plastered itself to the windshield. Suddenly I can't see anything anymore because my eyes are blurry with tears. Not because I'm frightened of blood, but that I can't remember how this happened. I know I'm related to this car and this blood- some of it might even be mine, but I just _can't remember. _I bite down on my lip hard to keep the tears back. Something terrible happened to me the night I came here and this is just one of the pieces to the mosaic of lost memories.

I slide out of the car, taking a step back in the field of broken glass when my back meets something. I whirl around to find Malachi staring down at me and behind him Isaac stands at the edge of the corn rows. As much as I try, I can't pull my Mahlah façade up to defend myself. I am just Jesse- a girl who does not belong anywhere near Gatlin, Nebraska.

"You missed service," Isaac says stiffly, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes digging into me. Mahlah would have begged forgiveness. Mahlah would have gotten onto her knees and prayed to He Who Walks Behind the Rows to give her the wisdom to fight the temptation within her. Mahlah would have apologized. Mahlah would have wormed her way out of this somehow. Only Jesse can not do those things. She cannot bring herself to give up her curiosity for the sake of Isaac's good favor. The only thing that can find its way to my lips is a question.

"What did you do?" it comes out more challenging then Mahlah would have ever dared.

"I told you never to talk about that night again," Isaac snaps at me. I step forward, ready to hit something but Malachi catches my arms and holds me against him.

"What did you do!?" I scream at them both, pounding my fists against Malachi's chest which only results in his arms growing painfully tight around me. "What did you do to them?!"

Then Isaac is right in front of me, his hand cold against my cheek.

"I did what I had to, Mahlah" he is using that voice again- the one adults use on children as if they don't understand what they're being told.

"My name is not Mahlah," I hiss, mostly to myself but he still hears me.

"And you're not seventeen either," Isaac says, holding up a white square in front of me. I blink a few times and find it's my driver's license. The corner is smudged with dried blood, but my date of birth is perfectly clear. "In fact you're only five months away from turning nineteen."

I feel completely naked in front of him. All my lies are gone, all my armor stripped away and I can only stare in silence as my disguise is pulled off piece by piece. All the fight in me is gone, replaced by cold fear. I wasn't the only one who thought looking along the road for answers would be a good idea; Isaac beat me to the chase.

"However," Isaac begins, looking at the card between his fingers. "This belongs to Jesse Alston."

He reaches forward, using the card to prop my chin up so that I'm looking him straight in the eye. I feel defeated held in Malachi's arms and completely lost caught in Isaac's gaze.

"You don't happen to know her, do you?"

The weight of what he's asking me to do falls onto my shoulders all at once. Slowly, Malachi takes a step back, freeing me from my prison. I know what I should do but it takes so long for my body to respond. Shakey fingers reach up and take the thin plastic card and I look at it once last time. The picture is terrible, this girl Jesse must have been completely caught off guard when it was taken. It's so stupid looking I have to crack a smile looking at it. Glancing back up at Isaac I hand the card back, my hands too weak to hold it any longer. "No. No, I don't."

Those must be the hardest words I have ever had to say.

I expect a look of triumph on Isaac's face, but what I see is something else. A cold anger that seems to run deep within him. He tosses the card into the car and looks at Malachi. "Torch it."

I spin around to tell them to stop to grab the boy and prevent him from taking a single step forward but Isaac's hand falls on my shoulder and I feel his coldness seep into my skin. Malachi looks at me, his face pulled into a sneer before taking out a book of matches and striking on of them against the edge. The tiny little flame lights up the freckles on his face. Just a pinpoint of light against the back drop of the night. The boy tosses it into the car and the seat immediately catches fire. The flames start growing and Malachi doesn't even stay to watch his work. Just turns towards the corn and slams his shoulder into mine as he walks by. I watch him vanish into the corn rows and can't help but wonder what Isaac must have told him. All this time I thought Malachi was the dangerous part of Gatlin that I'd eventually win over when it was Isaac all along. Malachi had a knife, but Isaac had a silver tongue that could win over anyone given the chance. Now, standing there with his fingers digging into my shoulder I see exactly where I went wrong. Thinking Isaac was easy to control was my fatal flaw and now I was paying for it. Jesse the Outlaw was forever dead- burnt to a crisp inside the car on the side of the road. All that was left was Mahlah, the girl who studies her butchered bible and follows her child preacher without a second thought.

"He is pleased with you, Mahlah," Isaac says in my ear. "You have shown you are a loyal servant at last."

The heat of the growing flame is hot against my face, but all I can feel are the tears rolling down my cheeks. I want to ignore them and hide them from prying eyes but a sob is stuck in my throat and as hard as I try to hold it back it escapes from my lips. A pale, fleshy finger reaches up and wipes away a drop that had almost reached the edge of my jaw.

"He has great plans for you, Mahlah," Isaac whispers to me, which only makes my body shudder with more sobs. "Great, world-changing plans."


	6. Bruises

I feel like a piece of paper being torn into pieces and then thrown away. Nothing is the same anymore. I can no longer blend into the crowd of children. Mahlah is a mere shell without Jesse underneath her. What good is a mask if there is no one to wear it?

That's how my last few weeks in Gatlin have been, moping around the empty barns with the bible any grandparent of mine would have pronounced satanic. Sitting in a hay loft on the second floor of a barn, I look out over the fields and wonder what it would be like to become one with them. Not in the kooky corn crucifix way, but on my own terms. Inching closer to the opening I look over the edge at the ground below. Hard packed dirt without even a single blade of grass to cushion the fall. I could do it. Just throw myself over and not have to worry about Malachi or Isaac anymore. I hold my bible out over the void, gripping its leather cover before letting it fall to its own little death. Knowing my luck I would just break a leg and get another lecture. Fate is much to cruel to grant me death, but oh how I wish she would.

It's been absolute hell in Gatlin since that night; I don't even know where to begin. If I felt secluded before, I am the loneliest creature in the world now. I have to attend all the sermons and gatherings but even if I'm in a room full of people I can feel the walls that separate me from them. Most of the children in Gatlin won't sit next to me on the pews, but I never really have to worry about that anymore. Brother Isaac has taken it upon himself to never let me out of his sight. I still manage to sneak away for a few hours each day when he's by himself in the church office, but when the whole town gets together he is always right there eyes boring into me. Jammed between the edge of a pew and his ratty too big suits, I feel like I'm about to suffocate. Although I have to admit that I appreciate his watchful eyes the last few days because things have gotten worse, much worse.

On Tuesday this week, I was walking down main street from the library. No one actually checks out books, in fact it's frowned upon in Gatlin. However, I still do it. Tired of corn and bibles, I picked up the few novels I could find. _Catcher in the Rye_ by J.D. Salinger and _All Quiet on the Western Front _by Erich Remarque. Not exactly my normal reading material but after being starved of television, internet and social interaction I needed something to get away. Hiding my loot in my bag- which was nothing more than a glorified burlap sack with a drawstring- and took to the street to get to my secluded little barn of a house as fast as I could. However, some citizens of Gatlin had other ideas. As I walked past the dusty ruins of a coffee shop, a group of kids busted through the door, swarming me like a pack of piranha. Their hands were everywhere- yanking my bag off my shoulders and gripping my arms in place so I couldn't get away. _They're going to find the books_ was my initial fear, but their chattering and taunting was silenced by the entrance of their leader. Of course, the boy who exited the abandoned coffee shop last was covered in freckles and had a shock of fiery red hair curling around his ears.

"Well, what do we have here?" he sneered, snatching my bag from one of his minions and looking through it. When he pulled out the books he snorted and turned to me, shoving the faded cover of Remarque's book in my face. "Books? Doesn't _Saint Isaac_ have you reading enough?"

Throwing my books into the burlap, he threw the sack off to the side. I started forward, a curse on the edge of my lips when the back of Malachi's hand silenced it. I stood there gapping at him for a moment before the pain seeped into my cheek. It'd be red in a moment, maybe even bruised by the evening services. I was helpless there, my arms held out to the sides by the boy's henchmen. Crucified on my cross of children, I looked up at my abuser and tried to speak, "Mala-"

Another slap to the face and suddenly I was no longer standing and facing my attacker but curled in a ball in the dirt, facing the rage of the crowd. The first blow went to my stomach knocking the wind from my lungs in time for the tip of someone's boot to catch me in the jaw. My thin farm dress did nothing to soften the blows and all I could do was lay on the ground and wait for it to be over. The sharp iron taste of blood filled my mouth as the chorus of boots plunked out their tune against my flesh.

I didn't even realize I had been crying until they had run off and I tasted the salt on my lips.

After that day, I've been plagued by like meetings all over town. Bruises coat my skin and I have to keep my dress sleeves rolled down less someone sees. Malachi and his cronies always find me. No matter where I go they're always waiting for me to deliver their daily beating. I know the rest of the children see their handy work no matter how hard I try to hide it. I can wear long sleeves but I cannot cover up the black eye that has overtaken my face, or the long cut across my chin that will certainly scar. Everyone can see their work, but no one says a single word. Mahlah should have kept her nose in her bible then they wouldn't be trying to break it- that's what they must think, and maybe I should have. It would make life a lot more bearable.

There is one place in Gatlin Malachi and his gang cannot touch, and that is the church. The white steeple and the clearing in the cornfield it oversees is Isaac's territory and, as much as I had to say it, I'm safe there. I thought I could take it, I really did, but after the third day of being beaten senseless out in the open I was fed up. So I traded my freedom in for doing chores in the chapel. Isaac is there, as is Rachel. I met the girl on my first night in Gatlin and since then I have learned that she has no admirable qualities. She's pompous, rude, overbearing and, in general, just a big ol bitch. However I'd take bitchy Rachel over being kicked in the head any day.

Today, Isaac came out of his office holding a list in his hand, a grin spreading across his face. "Good news girls- guess what day it is today?"

"Friday," I say, my voice a lot softer than it used to be. I was trying to be sarcastic, but all the venom has left my tongue.

"That too, but today is Issachar's ninetieth birthday," Isaac says. Immediately, Rachel jumps to her feet and I see her fingers twitching, ready to get to work.

"Oh, I shall prepare the ceremonial knife and get the parchment and the bowl and-," Isaac raises his hand and cuts of Rachel's to do list prematurely.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm Sister Rachel and I know your loyalty for He Who Walks Behind the Rows goes far beyond most of the flock, but I would like Mahlah to perform the ceremony for Issachar tonight," Isaac said, his young face some how managing to look fatherly.

She's going to punch me. I can feel it, she could just whirl around and deck me right in the face. However, she doesn't. Rachel only stands there for a moment, her hands clenched into fists, staring at Isaac.

"And what exactly does _He_ want me to do," she says through gritted teeth.

"You can always ring the bell in the steeple," Isaac says and it almost sounds as if he meant to insult her. Watching Rachel closely, I see her head twitch before she mutters a "Yes, of course. Thank you." and starts for the front doors of the chapel. I catch her eye as she walks by and oh, if looks could kill then I would have withered right then and there.

"Come, Mahlah. You have much to learn and little time to do it," Isaac tells me, taking my hand and leading me into his office.

* * *

I've never been in Isaac's office, and it was a disappointment to actually see it. I expected something ultra weird- severed heads maybe. Instead it was just a gloomy office with tables covered in paper work and open bibles. A few corn stalks were scattered here and there like charms hidden in corners of houses to ward off bad spirits. Well, in this case, to draw them in.

Retreating into a closet, Isaac returned holding a large wooden box with designs carved into the lid. Leaning in, I inspected the picture. The carving depicted a scene in which someone sat in front of a congregation, a star drawn on his chest. Beside him a figure held aloft a knife in one hand and a bowl in the other. "It's an easy ceremony to perform, but an important one."

Putting the box on the table, Isaac opened the lid, revealing the contents. A bowl covered in corn kernels, a blade who's hilt was also covered in kernels and corn stalks all tied together with a red ribbon, and finally a piece of parchment was folded up in the lid of the box.

"So, the ceremony will start and I'll read a few choice scriptures, and then you will take the knife," Isaac placed the weapon into my hands, the knife wasn't much to look at and the hilt was nearly impossible to grip with all the adornments. "And hand it to Issachar. He will then use it to carve a pentagram into his chest."

"Wait, what?" I looked up at Isaac, because he had to be joking. Carving pentagrams into skin? This wasn't some supernatural novel, this was real life rural Nebraska!

"A pentagram, like this," despite the fact that I did know what a pentagram was, Isaac reached forward, placing his index finger on my chest just below my collarbone. From there he traced the shape of the symbol, his fingers brushing my breasts through my dress. Before he had finished the design, I grabbed his wrist, shuddering from the feeling of the phantom pentagram on my skin.

"I know what a-," I really wish I could have finished that sentence. I wish Isaac hadn't of stopped me, hadn't of silenced my lips with his own, hadn't of cut off my words with his mouth. After all the shit I'd been through in Gatlin, this was the one event I'd rather had not experienced. Pulling my head back, I broke it off, aware that the ceremonial knife was still in my hand. Unsure of what to do, I decided that you can't go wrong with quoting the bible, "For God hath not called us unto uncleanness, but unto holiness. First Thessalonians 4:7."

Isaac looked at me for a moment, still leaning towards me, his hand gripping the edge of his desk to compensate for the angle. Then a small grin started on his lips until it had spread into that all knowing, condescending smirk. He took a step towards me and spun out his own scriptures. "He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord, Proverbs 18:22."

Shuffling backwards, I searched my mind for more ammunition against him and his kisses. "But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be once named among you, as becometh saints, Ephesians 5:3."

"Houses and wealth are inherited from parents, but a prudent wife is from the Lord, Proverbs 19:14."

"Now concerning the things whereof ye wrote unto me: It is good for a man not to touch a woman, First Corinthians 7:1," my voice went up an octave as my back met the office door. I was trapped like a rat. A broken, bruised rat under the watchful eye of its so called protector.

"A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies, Proverbs 31:10," I could see the lust in his eyes- an odd expression to see in someone so young. Or was he as young as I thought he was? For all I knew Isaac could be billions of years old. His eyes were hungry, like Malachi's that day in the corn field. However, I was in control of that encounter, this one I felt helpless about. Then he went for the killing stroke, his lips meeting my neck. I let out odd squeaks of protest, as if his lips were burning my skin, before I could get real words out.

"Please no-."

"Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord, Ephesians 5:22," he said against my flesh. It was intoxicating, as if his breath was a poison I inhaled. His fingers found my wrist and eased my hand open until the knife fell from my grip. I was useless underneath his touch and I wanted to be angry about it but I couldn't bring myself to be. I merely worked my own lips beneath his. You are the potter, I am the clay kind of shit.

"Oh, he is pleased with you, Mahlah," his voice sounded gruff and strained, his cheek against mine and his fingers toying with the hem of dress, brushing my thigh beneath it. "Very pleased."

I could feel my heart beating in my chest, the blood pumping through my entire body from the top of head to the tips of my toes.

No, think about this for a second- life has gone to total crap recently, right? Well, getting in with the guy in charge isn't such a bad idea, now is it? I am in control. I am in control. _I_ am in control.

My fingers find their way to his dark hair, and suddenly he has a hand up my skirt and his suit jacket is half way across the room. Now, I didn't exactly picture myself losing my virginity in a church run by crazy children in the middle of Nebraska but, you know, plans change.

I am positive that Isaac is ten times older than he appears to be. The way he moves around and the way he touches me is something no teenager could do. My toes are barely touching the floorboards, my back leaning completely against the door as Isaac fumbles around with kisses on my collarbone when suddenly I'm no longer upright, but on the floor with Isaac between my legs lying in the doorframe with Rachel standing over us.

"For this is the will of God, even your sanctification, that ye should abstain from fornication!" her voice is a high shrill that burrows down into the very depths of my ears and makes my head ring. The girl is walking down the rows of pews towards the door and suddenly Isaac is on his feet after her, calling out her name but she pays him no mind. "Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God?! Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind!"

If she gets out that door my last chance at settling in Gatlin will be done for. Isaac was my last chance- I will not let Rachel kill my lifeline. I refuse to deal with anymore beatings from Malachi- I will not let them beat the spirit out of Mahlah as well as Jesse.

Sitting up, I reached across the floor and snatched up the ceremonial knife, gripping the hilt so hard the kernels dug into my skin leaving an impression. Scrambling to my feet, I run down the aisle. Isaac managed to get a hold of Rachel but she was fighting him and screaming about how we were damned and going to burn in hellfire. I wasn't letting this stuck up bitch destroy my last bit of social standing. Running up behind her, I grabbed a handful of her dark, frizzy hair and yanked her head back and without even pausing to think of the repercussions, I ran my knife along her neck slicing open her throat and splattering blood all over Isaac's shocked face.


	7. The Sacrifice

Issachar is completely ignorant of what the knife is holding has done. As he carves into the flesh of his own skin all I can think about is how the blood hit Isaac's face. How hard I had to scrub the floorboards for tonight. How determined I am that no one find out the history behind that knife.

The boy takes the bowl from my hand and I watch him collect his blood in it. He cut pretty deep, so there is plenty to gather. How Issachar manages to sit there so calmly while his bloods flows is a mystery to me. Rachel had squirmed and ran her fingernails down my arms before finally succumbing to death. I had to get a new dress; my old one was covered in blood.

The parchment is already in place so all I have to do is hand Issachar the brush and he knows the rest. Dipping the end into the bowl he writes is name in his own blood. Blood is so weird when you think about it. It flows through you at all times but you're never aware of its value until it's too late.

Taking the bowl, I raise it up in front of me so that the entire congregation can see it. It's funny standing in front of all the people who despise me. I look over the crowd and into their eyes. I don't know their faces very well, but I could tell you exactly which shoe caused which bruise. "Now we will pass the cup and drink to honor Issachar and his life."

Isaac told me everything to do, but I never had time to protest this part. We had other things to do- bodies to hide, hands to clean. He wasn't exactly grateful I had solved our problem. It was a waste of blood. We should have sacrificed her to He Who Walks Behind the Rows. I wanted to tell him he was full of shit, but I know better.

I hope no one notices the fresh bruise on my cheekbone.

My fingers shake as I lift the bowl to my lips. It tastes metallic and my throat constricts as it goes down. My body knows this is wrong but it can't stop it. Passing the bowl off to Isaac, I leave the altar to sit in a pew. The other children in the church gather in a line down the aisle to take their turns drinking from the cup. They all look completely comfortable with the idea. Odd.

Am I any better than them now? I have killed. That's a sin, right? Of course it is. My hand grips my forearm where, underneath my dress, the scratches Rachel gave me are still stinging.

What a mess I have gotten myself into.

The children walk by, some of them shoot me dirty looks, some don't even look at me at all. One, however, comes and sits down beside me in the wooden pew. My eyes are staring into my lap, but a quick flicker over to his shoes tell me exactly who it is.

"You can't hit me in church, especially during a service," I whisper, my eyes still downcast.

"I'm not here to hit you, outlander," I wince at the word. Outlander. I wish I was, but I'm not anymore. Gatlin has possessed me body and soul. "But it seems that someone has."

Finally, I raise my eyes to his. He has more freckles than I remember. His red hair is dirty, like it always is, and his shirt is missing the top button. "That's none of your business." I say, moving my hair so that it hides my cheek. Even the person who I thought would protect me has hurt me. There is no where to turn anymore, I'm alone among all the rows of corn.

"So, Mahlah, where's Rachel?" is isn't his words that make me whip my head around to stare, it's his tone. A snarky, confident inflection that let's me know exactly what he is going to say before he says it. However, he leans in anyway his lips right by my ear. "I saw you out in the corn field. Can't waste anything hm?"

He thinks he has been backed into a corner, but what Malachi doesn't know is I have no where to go. He didn't see what Rachel did, and even the protection I killed her to keep has failed me. I am a girl with nothing to lose and that is the worst kind of enemy to have.

"Then you know not to mess with me," I say, my voice light and conversational. His expression changes and I know this is what he was expecting. Probably expecting me to plead or something. Jesse doesn't beg and frankly I don't give two shits about Mahlah right now. "Because now you know, I won't hesitate to kill you."

"Whatever happened to 'return to me, and I will return to you' Mahlah?" Malachi shifts around in his seat, his voice straining to stay below a whisper.

"That was before you beat me up, now wasn't it?" I say oh does it feel to good to let that anger out. I didn't realize how much rage has been building up inside me the last few weeks but it feels so wonderful to get it all out. "And we both know that's not my name."

Looking up I see the last few kids are approaching the cup, Isaac stands at the front to monitor each child and his eyes flicker over to where Malachi and I sit. His lips press together into a firm line but other than that you'd have never thought he had seen.

I don't need Isaac to protect me. I don't need anyone to watch over me, I know that now. I was the one who survived those beatings- I was the one who silenced Rachel. I am made of tougher metal than I thought.

* * *

The last kid takes his seat and Issachar is still seating up on the altar grinning like crazy, showing his crooked teeth. Isaac climbs the stairs to stand beside the boy and holds his arms open silencing the whole crowd- including Malachi.

"And now- the sacrifice begins!" his voice is loud and commanding and almost immediately afterwards all the children around me erupt into praises, cheering and yelling. All the while Issachar grins, looking out at all the people screaming at him as if it were his birthday and they were singing to him.

What in the hell was going on? I twist around in the pew, looking over my shoulders. Everyone is cheering and hollering and I just can't make since of it.

"You don't know about the sacrifice ceremony?" I hear Malachi chuckle. I turn and see he is the only one not standing besides myself. All stretched out on the pew with his arm along the back he grins at me. Somehow the people here always find something to dangle in front of me, something I don't know.

"Wasn't that it?" I ask, pointing at the table with the parchment and the now empty bowl.

"That's only the beginning! Now the fun part begins," there's something in his eye when he says that and I know this is going to be a night to remember.

Isaac drops his arms and all the kids begin filing out of the church, but he waves Malachi and I up onto the stage with him. We're to escort Issachar outside, he says. As the guest of honor or a prisoner I'm not sure. With Isaac in the lead, Issachar in the middle and Malachi and I at the back, we walk out of the church into the night. A little ways into the cornfield I see the flicking light of torches about where the clearing is.

Marching through the corn, all I can hear is the shouting of children that is slowly turning into a chant. Finally emerging into the beaten down circle in the middle of the field I feel a stone drop into the pit of my stomach. In the middle of the space there's a new cross lying in the dirt adorned with fresh ears of corns. Issachar heads for the crucifix instantly, as if he was born to lay on it. Malachi grabs something from a near by child and then hands it to me- a length of rough hewn rope.

"Tie his hands," he gives me a devilish smile and I think I might puke. Crossing over, I kneel down beside the boy, and tie his arm as gently as I can to the wooden plank.

"Make it tighter," he hisses at me. "I don't want to fall on my special night."

Horrified, I untie the rope and tie it again. Issachar's skin is already turning red underneath the rope's coarse touch but he thanks me anyway.

Standing up I hear Isaac preaching over the chanting of his flock. The torches only add the madness of the night and I feel like all my senses are on overload. I get shoved out of the way as the bigger boys of Gatlin edge forward to lift the cross into place. They tug ropes and lean against its base, chanting and grinning. I'm standing right in front of the crucifix when it is lodged into place. Staring up at the boy tied to the wood, I am certain I'm going to pass out.

Looking past the cross, I catch Malachi's gaze. He's standing behind the boy, looking pleased with himself. I'm not even sure what expression I'm making, I am lost in my own terror.

Something wet hits my face and my whole body jolts in surprise. Touching the foreign substances I examine my fingers to find them slick with something that looks black in the torchlight. Looking up I see another drop of blood fall from Issachar's chest and land on my cheek.

Is this what they did to my family that I can't remember? Is this what they're going to do to me when I turn nineteen? The weight of everything I have experienced in this backwards little town lands on my shoulders in this one moment and I try desperately to blink back the tears collecting in my eyes. I will not cry here again.

I have to leave Gatlin.


	8. Sick

After Issachar lost consciousness and Isaac allowed the parish to leave for the night and let the boy "continue his journey with 'He Who Walks Behind the Rows'" I made a bee line through the children to the head that towered above them all. A quick tug on his sleeve and his head dipped down to mine, his freckles right in my face. A whisper in his ear and then I was off again, slowing my pace so I fell to the back of the pack of the children. Honestly it wasn't all that hard because the occasional minion would decide to shove my shoulder to get in front of me. Pretty soon I was right where I wanted to be, by the side of the suit wearing spiritual leader of Gatlin.

"What were you and Malachi talking about," he said his teeth on edge and his eyes staring forward refusing to look in my direction.

"He asked about Rachel," I say and his eyes immediately snap to mine only to pull away again as if remembering he was mad at me. "You know more people will start to notice her absence. What are you going to do then?" My tone was harsh but seeing as he caused the whole mess I figured I could talk how I please.

"I have no sins on my heart, Mahlah. You are the one who wasted He Who Walks Behind the Rows' sacrifice, and such a noble one at that," I guess that was Isaac's way of telling me I was on my own. I realize I was the one who… who killed Rachel but I only did it because she saw Isaac corning me.

I realize I'm in the wrong just as much as him. I killed someone. I murdered Rachel, but the thing is I don't feel all that bad about it. Remorse doesn't laden each step I take and guilt isn't weighing down my shoulders. If anything I feel more powerful because of it, a thought that both excites and scares me.

"So you're not going to help me," it isn't even a question, just a statement. I figured he might be at least a little worried about the circumstance but it is obvious that Isaac is willing to cut his losses, even if that loss is me.

"I think we both know the answer to that," and with that he quickened his pace towards the white board church, leaving at the edge of the cornfield.

I figured I'd have to do some cleanup but I thought I would be able to get a little help with public relations. However, it is pretty obvious that I'm alone in this endeavor.

All the other children had cleared out of the church yard and no figures passed through the streets of Gatlin this late at night. Using the light of the moon and the dying torchlight info the clearing as a landmark, I crept through the cornfield. Picking a row I sat down in the dirt between the stalks and waited for what felt like forever. Clouds crawled across the sky, shrouding the moon and then revealing it just in time to cast light down on the figure tip toeing through the stalks.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show," I say, standing up to meet the red haired boy. When I had whispered to him to meet me in the field tonight I had planned on asking what had happened on the night I had arrived in Gatlin, however plans change. Seeing as I'm the only one working to cover up the body buried in the field across the highway, I was going to have to save those questions for another time.

"I only came because I know what we did last time we were here," he said, and in the dim light I could see a grin grace his lips. Without hesitating he grabbed my chin, running his thumb across my jaw. It is so odd how people can act so differently when you see them in different settings. In the cornfield Malachi is like, well, this and out in the streets he's cruel. Well he's still cruel here but at least I'm in control here. Laying my palms flat against his chest before running them up to his shoulders. Suddenly an arm was wrapped around my waist, and his lips were on mine. It wasn't a little peck either, it was one of the kisses you see in movies. Passionate, lustful kisses that fill your entire body with electricity. My fingers fell to the buttons of Malachi's shirt and began undoing them. With our lips still together his hands vanished for a moment to shrug out of his suspenders and then they were around my body again, hugging me to his chest and cutting off the task my hands had set out for. Pulling out of the kiss I shoved against his shoulders and he sank to the ground, lying on his back in the dirt. Lifting my skirts I straddled him, bending over to plant another kiss on his lips. They felt differently than Isaac's, larger, chapped but yet still delicious. His hands had already met the skin of my thighs, climbing higher and higher under my dress. This was about as far as we went the last time we were together and while I had little experience in this area, the longing burning in my core seemed to know what to do. My flesh yearned to be touched, my lips to be kissed more and kiss more of him.

My fingers fumbled at the buttons on the front of my dress , sloppily unfastening them and freeing the skin that had for so long been suffocated under its scratchy material. Malachi's hands slid from under my dress and up to my chest and a gasp escaped my mouth. I felt his stomach move under me as he laughed at my reaction. I slid my arms out of my dress' sleeves so the garment was hanging around my waist. Shifting back, I yanked the boy's shirt the rest of the way open, a few buttons jumping off and landing somewhere in dirt.

Suddenly, the boy's hands gripped my waist and the whole world flipped over and it was my back in the dirt. The boy fumbled with his zipper and then his hot flesh was against mine, his chest pressing down on mine and his hips shoved in between my legs. It felt exciting and just _good_ until he opened his mouth.

"Tell me about Rachel," his breath was hot against my face and all I could do was hope he couldn't see the confusion on my face.

"What?" and before the word was completely out of my mouth before he spoke again.

"Tell me about how she died," any longing or heat that had filled my body before was dwindling and now was nearly dead. Was he really asking me this?

"Uh I, I grabbed the ceremony knife and cut her throat," his body shuddered over mine, as his body moved against mine.

"And the blood?" He asked, his cheek pressed against min, his hips grinding against mine.

"And the blood splattered all over me, on my face and… and on my dress. It was everywhere," Whatever enjoyment I had been experiencing was completely gone and now Malachi's movements inside me just kind of hurt. He was sick and twisted just like everyone in this god damn town and I knew that but, I never knew he was this sadistic. He was moaning into my ear and I tried to pretend like I was still in the moment but in all honesty I was just scared and seriously freaked out. He asked more questions but I couldn't take it anymore, I just laid there in the dirt until he finished and rolled off of me. His fingers were on my jaw again, pulling my head over for a quick kiss. I had to shove my horror aside to complete what I lured Malachi here for in the first place.

"You know I'd like to keep meeting here but if anyone finds out what I did to Rachel we… we can't," my voice caught at the end because frankly I wanted to get the hell away from him but I had to get my messes cleaned up.

"I'll say she tried to run and I cut her down or something," he shifted onto his side, throwing his arm around my waist and hugging me against him. "Don't worry, I've gotten everything under control, _Jesse_."

"Th-thank you, Malachi," I manage to stutter out quickly before slapping on a "I need to go."

Leaping to my feet, I didn't even try to end my performance with a kiss or a verse or anything, I just struggled to pull my dress back on while stumbling through the corn stalks. Running through the stalks, I managed to shove one arm but I couldn't find my left sleeve and eventually I dropped to my knees, my stomach wrenching and emptying its contents onto the dirt.

I thought I could do this. I thought I could manipulate people and lie my way through my time in Gatlin but it has become very apparent that I'm in over my head. How could people be so twisted? Have I become one of them since killing Rachel? Can I continue this charade with Malachi to keep myself safe? Throwing up again onto the base of the corn stalks, I hugged my arms around myself.

Gatlin has taken every single thing I had left. An empty shell is all that is left behind. It's taken my dignity, my virginity, my resolve and even my name. The only thought that consoles me now is that I literally have nothing left and a person with nothing to lose is the most dangerous kind there is.


End file.
